


Missionary Ridge

by sailsofmemory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, POV Hermione Granger, Panic Attacks, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:38:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailsofmemory/pseuds/sailsofmemory
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, Hogwarts was closed. Now, over a year later, the school has reopened and Hermione Granger, seeking a return to normalcy, gratefully accepts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall's offer of employment as an associate Charms professor. What Hermione couldn't anticipate, however, was McGonagall's second offer of employment to an old adversary - and what that adversary would grow to become.





	1. Chapter 1

The stonework had been charmed to make it look older. It was the first thing Hermione noticed upon stepping into the entrance courtyard – an odd sort of thing to notice, she thought, slinging her bag over one shoulder and running her hands over the stones. New – of course they were new. Everything here would be new. Except the memories – the memories would be very old and deep. She had not returned to this place since the last days of the War, and the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. The castle had been closed for repairs since then – this was the first time students and professors were allowed back into its halls. Halls, she remembered, were home to both wonderful and terrible memories. 

She felt her heart skip a beat, then speed up. 

Hermione’s fingers came to a halt at a break in the stones. Closing her eyes, she willed her heart to slow, her breathing to steady out, but in the darkness behind her eyes she saw things. Flashes of green and red light. Blood. She heard a piercing scream, and then another. The world, the courtyard outside her eyes, it was all spinning and she was being lifted off the ground. Higher and higher until – 

“Granger.” 

The voice broke through, somewhere around her. She felt herself slowly come back to earth, though an old courtyard surrounded her. The memories, fresh. Too real. 

“Come on, Granger. I know you can hear me,” someone spoke again, and Hermione broke through the veil surrounding her. She opened her eyes – to her shock, she wasn’t soaring above the school, but standing, firmly, on new stones, still facing the courtyard wall. Her hand, still firmly placed on the stones. 

One more breath, she thought. Breathe. Slow down. 

When she had her composure gathered well enough, she turned to face Draco Malfoy – only the last person she had expected to see within these walls. Thoughts shot through Hermione’s mind – he was healthier looking than last she saw him. Still pale, yes, but not the pale sheen of death on his skin. She might have sworn a slight smile danced on his lips, but it was gone before she pinned it down. Still recovering, she knew this conversation couldn’t last long.

“Malfoy. Good to see you,” she said, the lie sounding ridiculous to her. “I’m off, have a meeting with McGonnagal.” 

It wasn’t entirely a lie. She did have a meeting with the new Headmistress – one she had been looking forward to until now. However, she couldn’t say she was happy to see Draco Malfoy – whom she had last seen retreating from the Battle, close behind his mother. True, she had caught glimpses of him in the Daily Prophet – stories about pardoned children, about Death Eaters sent to Azkaban – but she had paid little attention to those stories. Draco Malfoy, as far as Hermione was concerned, had likely left her life for good – and she was fine with that. 

Clearly, though, that wasn’t the case. Here he was, standing in front of her – standing between her and the staircase, blocking her path into the castle. 

Draco let out a laugh – harsh, but not malicious. “You’re glad to see me? Well, I’d love to say the feeling’s mutual, but – you know, old habits die hard.” He shrugged, gesturing nonetheless toward her bag, which had fallen to the floor. “As it so happens, I also have a meeting with the new Headmistress. Care for some company?”

“You?” Hermione had found herself again. “Why would McGonagall schedule a meeting for both of us at the same time?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Draco asked, and seemed pleased when Hermione returned only a blank stare, laced with annoyance at the edges. “Well, well, the know-it-all fails to live up to the name.”

Without warning, he grabbed her bag off the floor and turned from her, climbing the stairs into the castle. Incensed, and more than a little annoyed at the less-than-ideal start to the day, Hermione raced after him, snatching the bag from his casual grip.

“All right, Malfoy, out with it. I’m in no mood for games today.”

Draco stopped mid-step, and turned to look at her. She looked back, letting her glare soften as she noticed a change in his face – what was it? Soft? Concerned? She couldn’t read it. Regardless, he seemed to read something in her face, too – had he seen her panic attack moments ago? How long had he been standing there? 

The panic attacks were coming more frequently. Harry had suggested she see a psychologist, while Ron had balked at the concept of a “Muggle mind-doctor,” as he put it. Hermione brushed them both off – all she needed was stability, an outlet for her mind. Ever since the end of the War, she, Harry, and Ron had been required at countless meetings, events, conferences – even balls and celebrations. The Golden Trio was in high demand in all circles. Their advice had even been consulted as the Ministry was being reconstructed – she had almost enjoyed those meetings. However, for over a year, her entire life was a constant reminder that she was a war hero; that her entire life had been war – and peace was something difficult to accept. Her panic attacks gradually increased over the year, and now the simplest memory could trigger them.

“No, you’re not,” he responded, almost quietly, breaking Hermione from her thoughts. He turned from her and continued up the grand staircase. “I’ve been hired as an associate Potions professor, Granger. Word has it, we’re to be colleagues this year.”

Hermione was stunned. She had considered it a great gift with the new Headmistress had contacted her with the job offer. Apparently, with the War over and Voldemort gone, more wizarding families felt comfortable sending their children to Hogwarts. The school’s enrollment numbers nearly doubled over the year – and the school was in desperate need of associate professors to support the workload of head professors. McGonagall’s letter offering Hermione employment as an associate Charms professor had barely arrived when she responded with a letter of acceptance. It would be a return to normalcy. A chance to forget.

Now one of her greatest adversaries was standing a step above her, and she had a feeling her sense of peace and normalcy was about to come crumbling down. 

“Come off it, Granger,” she heard Draco’s voice just ahead of her. She was almost pleased to hear the old Malfoy in his tone. She looked up, and then continued walking with him toward the Headmistress’ office. “I’m sure we’ll hardly see each other – and I’m sure we’ll keep it that way.”

Hermione said nothing as they approached the office. She couldn’t allow Malfoy – or anyone else – to disrupt the potential healing of this space. True, she was back at Hogwarts – and her attack in the courtyard seemed to suggest that this wouldn’t exactly be the escape from the War’s aftermath she had intended. Still, it held so many possibilities – work, a good day’s work, being one of them. Not an endless stream of meetings or balls or invitations. And the opportunity to immerse herself in academics – something that was a true joy in her life. Yes, she thought, the excitement growing as Draco spoke the password to McGonagall’s office, this new life was exactly what she needed. 

“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy – how good to see you both!” The exclaim greeted them as the door to the office opened wide. Hermione was shocked – McGonagall sounded genuinely happy to see both of them – her and Malfoy. 

The new Headmistress rose from behind a great mahogany desk, surrounded by neatly stacked books and papers – Dumbledore’s office, this wasn’t. But it still smelled of Hogwarts – of parchment and ink, of crackling wood, and of something deeper that Hermione couldn’t place. As she looked around the room, she noticed the portraits gracing the walls – Dumbledore and Severus Snape among them. Her heart skipped a beat, and Hermione had to close her eyes, stopping her stomach from plummeting. When she opened them, she noticed Draco glancing curiously at her before greeting McGonagall, as though nothing had happened. 

“Headmistress,” he said, shaking McGonagall’s outstretched hand, “A pleasure to see you again. The castle’s repairs are coming along well.” 

Hermione was shocked at his pleasantries – but had to remind herself that this wasn’t the same Draco Malfoy that had carelessly tossed out mudblood at any given chance, or despised professors behind their backs. He had grown up. She had, too – they all had. Times had changed. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. And thank you for agreeing to return to Hogwarts,” McGonagall responded, her voice clipped with business at the edges. Hermione smiled. Times might have changed, but Minerva McGonagall remained the same. 

She turned to face Hermione. “And Miss Granger,” she said, “I can’t thank you enough. I understand you’ve been quite busy lately, and have likely had more than your fair share of offers to choose from. Hogwarts is honored to have you return.”

Hermione hardly knew how to respond. “Thank you, Headmistress,” she finally said, “But the honor is all mine. I could hardly stand another month of invitations and balls.”

“Yes, sounds positively dreadful,” Draco joked beside her – another surprise. She didn’t think she had ever heard Malfoy joke. 

McGonagall smiled at them both. “Well, I am grateful to you both,” she said, returned to her desk, where she gestured toward two stacks of parchment paper, held together in folders. “These are your manuals. They have all the information you will need to begin the school year – rosters, schedules, school policies, maps of the new wings.”

With a flick of her wrist, she levitated the stacks toward Hermione and Draco. Hermione felt a rush of excitement shoot through her – this was it. She was a Hogwarts professor. This was something she had often dreamed of – writing her own courses, having her own office in the Hogwarts halls, doing research, learning constantly. As the parchment fell into her arms, she breathed in the heady scent of ink – she could hardly wait to get started on the reading. Beside her, to her shock, Draco also looked a bit enthused, even flipping his long fingers through the stack.

“The students will arrive tomorrow,” McGonagall’s voice broke through her thoughts. “So you won’t have very long to settle in – my apologies. Everything is a bit rushed this year.” Walking over them, she placed a small bag on her and Draco’s stacks. “Your apartment and office keys. Due to the renovations, all professor and staff apartments will be in the same wing. Offices will be grouped together in a separate wing.”

Hermione glanced down at the small, leather bag. Apartment 411A, Office 17. She smiled. It was all becoming real. She smiled, that was, until her stomached plummeted as she glanced at Draco’s bag: Apartment 411B, Office 18. 

So much for Malfoy’s prediction of distance. They were to be neighbors. Fantastic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers - thanks for the great response! Just a heads-up: this story is going to be a slow burn. It's going to be about people dealing with the aftermath of the war, especially Hermione, since this is her story. But everyone at Hogwarts is addressing the school's reopening in different ways. Within this framework, a slow friendship, and more, might build between two main characters. We'll see. Kidding, it's going to happen. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Her apartment was located in a renovated wing of the castle, on the fourth floor. The wing was slightly odd at Hogwarts – it wasn’t a great spiraling tower, but a long hallway, lined with portraits and wooden doors. A thick red and gold carpet spanned the length of the hallway – McGonagall’s addition, Hermione assumed with a small smile. As she and Draco walked silently down the hallway – she was infinitely grateful for the silence – they occasionally passed an open window, letting in the late summer air. Evening was drawing, and the sky was taking on a hazy, purple color as it was reflected in the lake. She had forgotten how truly beautiful this place could be.

“This is you.” She heard Draco’s terse voice break the silence beside her, as he stopped outside a great wooden door. A burgundy frame surrounded the smooth maple door of 411A – and just beside her door, not three feet away, was the door of 411B. 

“Wonderful,” she responded, her voiced laced with sarcasm. 

Suddenly, she felt Draco grab her wrist, spinning her to look up at him, his face, barely concealing a range of emotions. Parchment spilled on the floor. Hermione immediately went for her wand, but Draco wordlessly flicked it across the hallway. She breathed heavily, attempted to slow her rapidly beating heart. Not here, not now.

Draco, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice the rapidly approaching attack. “You think I’m pleased with this arrangement, Granger?” He flung at her, seething. “I know you’re not happy. Well, neither am I. You think I wanted to see your face around these halls? A reminder of everything?” 

As he spoke, his voice sunk to a harsh whisper. “A reminder of my parents in Azkaban – and who put them there?”

Hermione found her voice as she struggled against his firm hold. She jerked forward, as he held her fast. “I didn’t put your parents there, Malfoy. They did that to themselves.” 

She saw him struggle to control something, and felt his hand loosen slightly, slipping up her forearm. No, she thought, please, no further. But it was too late. Hermione felt Draco’s fingers brush against the scar on her arm. He jerked away as if burned, looking at his own hands instead of at her face. 

They stood, frozen. Hermione didn’t dare move. Draco looked like he would never find the words to say. “I…I,” he stammered, all semblance of the enemy who stood seething over her moments ago gone. Here was a man, or a child, or something else. She didn’t know. All she knew was the she needed to leave this hallway. Slowly, she slipped away from Draco, levitating the scattered papers back into her arms as she unlocked her apartment in one slightly shaky movement. When she looked back to close the door, he was still standing there, back toward her, facing the wall. Then the door closed. 

Hermione let out a shuddering gasp. It was all too much. She was rapidly being forced to see Draco Malfoy for who he was – former fighter, traumatized child, grown man, both mature and frightened. Draco Malfoy wasn’t so different from her – but then again, she hadn’t grabbed him. She sighed. She was going to need quite some time to process what had happened – and she couldn’t face him anytime soon. So she swung around to find a desk to drop off the parchment, and a bathroom to take a long bath. As was par for the course today, her emotions were flung in another direction.

The apartment was spectacular. Small, but her style to a tee – and she really shouldn’t have been shocked. This was magic, after all. 

The walls were white, freshly painted, and light streamed in through the wall of windows on the opposite wall. A small fireplace graced one end of the room, flanked bookshelves, and surrounded by a brown leather couch and overstuffed chairs. The couch was stacked with pillows and blankets, and behind, on the wall, lovely artwork surrounded by plants that hung from the ceiling. Along one large window, there was a simple, wooden desk, flanked by even more shelves. As she wandered into the small breakfast nook and through the kitchen, Hermione noted just how clean and peaceful the space was. She wondered if Draco’s suited him as well – and just what that would look like.

Her bedroom nearly took her breath away. Plants hung from the ceiling and soft rugs graced the floors. It was small, bright, with a large window and comfortable bed – and hers, all hers. After over a year of living in the cramped rooms of the Burrow, Hermione could scarcely believe the amount of space that was hers alone. And it was perfect. Later, she would unpack all of her personal belongings that had arrived ahead of her. But for now, she was long overdue for a relaxing evening to herself. 

Several hours later, Hermione found herself snuggled in the wildly comfortable couch across the fireplace. She had spent quite some time in the porcelain bathtub, overlooking the sun that had nearly set over the lake, and was feeling slightly better after the excitement of the day. Beside her, on a wooden stool, balanced the stack of paper she had set to read for tomorrow. Currently, she was reading through Hogwarts course offerings and professors. 

“Alchemy, arithmancy, good,” she muttered, scanning the list. Care of Magical Creatures was next – Hagrid was teaching, which she was pleased to see. And, then, ‘Charms’: Professor Flitwick’s name was listed first, followed by her own. “Hermione Granger, Associate Professor,” she read aloud, grinning. There it was, in ink. She was a Hogwarts professor. Following her name was ‘Divination,’ and Hermione felt a little thrill at seeing Parvati Patil’s name listed aside Professor Trelawney’s. True, she didn’t have much love for the subject, but she had missed her old girlfriends dearly – it would be good to see Parvati again.

She made her way down the list, noting that Neville Longbottom was listed after Professor Spout as an associate professor for Herbology. She was thrilled – while she hadn’t seen Neville often after the War, their few meetings had been warm, and Hermione looked forward to seeing more of him around Hogwarts. Perhaps he was someone she could talk to about the aftermath of it all. 

Next was the list of courses that were her responsibility. She barely noticed the sunset as she absent-mindedly waved some candles into flame. She would be teaching two sections of first-year, second-year, and third-year Charms, and one section each of fourth-year and fifth-year Charms. Her week was full up – leaving evenings and Friday afternoon for office hours. She was intimidated, yes, but also excited for what was to come. 

“A space to forget,” she said softly. A beautiful place, and people she cared about surrounded her. She was teaching – something she had always wanted to do. Knowledge was all around her. The paperwork even noted that she was expected to perform research – a thought that thrilled her. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, it would all slow her attacks. Maybe she could become whole again. 

As she continued to pour over schedules and syllabi, there was a soft knock on her apartment door. She sighed, then gathered the blanket around her shoulders and shuffled toward the door, unlocking it to find Malfoy standing there. Immediately, Hermione tensed, feeling her fingers involuntarily pull the blanket over the scar on her forearm. If Draco noticed, he didn’t say anything. He only moved to offer her something in his hands – and this time, he did notice her flinch slightly. Pain and shame flashed across his face as he stopped his motion. 

“I…I noticed you weren’t at dinner,” he said softly. Hermione suddenly noticed that her stomach was growling – in the midst of pouring of the paperwork, she had completely forgotten about dinner. And just then, something wonderful smelling hit her, coming from the box in Draco’s hands. He finished handing it to her. It was still warm. “I brought you some food.”

Hermione figured this was as close to an apology she was going to get. She, too, wanted to erase what had happened earlier, but seeing as though they couldn’t do that, she supposed she could at least partially forgive him.

“Thank you,” she said, haltingly, not allowing too much space. Then, she surprised herself. “Do you…do you want to come in?” As soon as she said it, she prayed that Draco would say no. She had far too much work still to finish, and didn’t really want to be around him any more than necessary.

He must have picked up on her apprehension, or maybe he, too, had work to finish, because he shook his head. “No, but thank you. I…I hope you enjoy dinner.” He gave her a small smile, which Hermione couldn’t quite decipher, as he nodded and turned toward his own apartment. First, though, he looked back at her, through her door, and back at her. “I really like the plants,” he said, almost softly, almost like a secret he was sharing with her. Then he opened his door and disappeared. 

Hermione stood in her doorway another moment, watching where Draco had just stood. She was swept up in too many emotions – and still couldn’t quite parse out what had happened earlier. She was exhausted, excited, scared, confused – and hungry, she realized again, when her stomach grumbled. Slowly, she shut the door and shuffled back inside to eat. 

The box was filled with enough food for a small family – and a large selection. It almost made her smile – of course Draco wouldn’t know her preferences. It wasn’t like they had ever eaten together at Hogwarts. There was a small cup of soup, a selection of tiny, fresh rolls, chicken baked in herbs, roasted root vegetables, and two slices of pie. It was almost overwhelming – she decided on a bit of the chicken, and picked at a few of the rolls before placing the rest in the small refrigerator in her kitchen. It would have been a most useful addition, she thought, to her old, cramped dormitory. 

She also lamented not being able to eat more of the delicious Hogwarts food. She found that, after the war, eating was something on the backburner, and occasionally lost her appetite when stressed. She supposed this was one of those times, and vowed to eat a hearty breakfast before the students arrived.

For now, it was back to the reading. 

Hermione flipped through the rest of the course schedules and syllabi, noting the newcomer who was listed as the Defense Against the Dark Arts associate professor. Minerva had offered the position to Harry, of course, Hermione had learned after informing Harry and Ron of her new job. Harry, having been offered a position in the Auror training program, had politely declined. It made sense to her – Harry was a decent student, but had no real passion for education. He would be happier as an Auror. Ron, on the other hand, had not been offered a position with Hogwarts, and had felt slighted, she could tell. Shortly after, he accepted a position alongside Harry, training to become an Auror. 

Ron. Hermione thought about the brief few months after the War, when, swept up in fame and glory, they had a passionate fling. It was never meant to last. It all happened too quickly, and by the end of the year, they had broken it off. Of course, there were no hard feelings – it was clear to both of them that the whole relationship made little sense. However, Hermione still felt that Ron might have rekindled their relationship, had she not decided to return to Hogwarts. She wondered what he was doing, now – was he happy, and confused, like she was? 

And of course, what would Harry and Ron think of her living and working so close to Draco Malfoy?

It was rapidly becoming too much to think about, and Hermione could feel herself simultaneously becoming tense and exhausted. Before she could think herself into a loop any further, she blew out the candles, closed up her reading, and made her way into the bedroom. It was late, and she was exhausted, and tomorrow was the first day of a potentially wonderful new life. As soon as her head hit the pillows, she fell asleep – feeling the ghost of long fingers along her arm.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The professors’ lounge and dining room was located just off the Great Hall, in a cozy but airy cluster of rooms. Hermione arrived slightly before most of the other professors – she had slept hard, and woke early, ready for the day ahead. When she finally found her way to the lounge, only Professors Sprout and Sinistra were there, quietly discussing their summer research over steaming mugs of tea. When they noticed Hermione enter, they sprung to their feet.

“Hermione Granger!” Professor Sprout exclaimed, wrapping her in a massive hug, “How good to see you again! We heard of your arrival last night – so sorry that you missed dinner. The pie was particularly delicious.”

Having not yet touched her morning coffee, Hermione was slightly overwhelmed, but gathered herself before attempting to pry away from Professor Sprout’s arms. “It’s good to see you too, Professor! And yes, I’m terribly sorry about missing dinner,” she said, pausing before deciding to tell them what happened. She decided on a half-truth. “Draco Malfoy did bring me some, however, so I didn’t go without.”

She noticed that Professor Sinistra’s eyebrows shot up slightly, but Professor Sprout didn’t seem to notice. “Ah well, that Malfoy boy turned out to be a good one after all,” she said, finally releasing Hermione. 

Hermione stepped back a half-step, slightly taken aback by Professor Sprout's remark.

“A ‘good one,’ Professor?” Hermione asked, slightly confused at the woman’s words. 

“Darling, don’t pretend,” Professor Sprout responded. “We did fight a war recently, and Draco Malfoy fought on the opposing side. To ignore that would be a great disservice.” She shrugged. “We need to remember were we came from.”

Hermione mulled over the woman’s words. She would have to think on that a bit longer. Instead of responding, she greeted Professor Sinistra, who inquired as to Hermione’s apartment, schedules, and the like. Hermione poured herself some coffee, which had mercifully appeared, and took a seat next to her. She appreciated the opportunity to talk to the Astronomy professor, whom she hadn’t known very well while she was a student. The woman was kind, vastly intelligent – but seemed to be hiding something behind a sly smile. Regardless, Hermione decided that her and Professor Sinistra – Aurora, the woman had reminded her – might be good friends. 

Their conversation was broken, periodically, by the arrival of new professors and associates. Hermione was introduced to several new associate professors, including the rather forward new Defense Against the Dark Arts associate, and received a great bear hug from Neville Longbottom upon his arrival. Hermione supposed a love of hugging was a requirement for Herbology professors as her friend lifted her into the air and she laughed. 

Draco Malfoy happened to walk into the lounge at that very moment, catching Hermione’s eye as Neville placed her feet gently on the ground. Hermione could have sworn she saw something gleaming in Draco’s eyes – was it jealousy? Regardless, it was gone before she could name it, and she turned away from Draco as Neville asked about her summer.

“Oh, it was boring,” she said, forcing out a generic answer, as her mind was occupied. “Too many parties, and too many wedding invitations – I mean, half of England wanted Harry, Ron and I to attend their weddings! Can you even imagine eating that much cake?”

Neville laughed. “Yeah, sounds horrible,” he joked. “Weddings and parties and helping to restructure the entire government, while the rest of us tended our gardens and maybe visited the ocean once.” 

Hermione lightly smacked his shoulder. “If you’re so keen, maybe you can accompany me to all those parties I’m still getting invited to,” she responded, smiling. “See you mingle with all those people, eat all that rich food.”

“I don’t know, Granger,” came the sharp voice from behind her. "Sounds like a good time to me."

Hermione didn’t bother to turn right away, as Neville’s smile went cold. “Malfoy,” he said, stoically, all humor gone. “Morning.”

“Well don’t let me ruin the fun,” Draco responded, as Hermione stepped out of the firing line. She might have had a bit of time to adjust to Draco’s presence, but it seemed Neville wasn’t quite there yet. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall called for everyone to be seated along the long table, as breakfast was about to begin, followed by the first staff meeting of the year. 

Hermione wasn’t particularly interested in sitting next to Draco, but it appeared luck wasn’t in her favor as Neville sat on her right, Draco on her left. As soon as all the professors had found seats, platters of food appeared on the table. Hermione finally found cause to smile as she remembered her younger days at Hogwarts, feasts with her friends in the Great Hall. 

Grabbing a dish, Hermione helped herself to a filling but easy breakfast – she didn’t want to overdo anything today. She filled a bowl with porridge, topped with fresh fruit and a drizzle of honey. It reminded her of home – a breakfast she often shared with her mother.

Her mother. The sudden thought pushed into her mind as she felt her heart speed up and the room start to tilt. She closed her eyes. Breathe, she thought, just breathe through it. She felt like she might float away – when a hand landed gently on her knee, underneath the table. Immediately, she was grounded, and the room straightened out. 

She looked down. Malfoy’s hand, and he was looking curiously at her. She shook her head, pleading for him to get the message as she swiped his hand away from her knee. They sat in silence as she slowly ate her oatmeal – which she had lost all real appetite for – and as conversation went on around them. Finally, she broke the silence, and changed the subject.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, turned to Draco almost accusatorially. 

His eyebrows shot up, and he put down his knife and fork. “What do you mean, ‘why did I do that,’ Granger? You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“You know what I mean. Why did you try to...you know...help me relax? What was that all about?”

“Ah,” Draco responded, picking up his fork again as if her concerns were meaningless, trivial. He dug eagerly back into his bacon, fried vegetables, and toast. Between bites, he responded, “You're not looking so great, Granger. Bit too pale, and looked to me like you weren't going to eat your breakfast. Look, it looks like a good breeze could blow you right over.”

Hermione was shocked into silence – both angry and confused. Why would he even notice her body? To him, she was an enemy, an adversary, and worse. And how dare he comment on her body? He had no concept of what she’d been through – how busy, how stressed she’d been, and the panic attacks – none of it. But Draco must have sensed an outburst coming, so he stopped eating again and turned to face her.

“Look, Granger, I’m not trying to tell you how to live or look,” he said, and Hermione could have sworn he almost sounded sincere. “I just want you to be healthy.”

“And why should you care?” She shot back, “Didn’t seem like you cared much about my health last night when you grabbed my arm.”

Draco looked around, as though afraid someone might overhear their conversation, and then lowered his voice. “Look, Granger, I’m really sorry about that. But it was a one-off, and I don’t know how else to apologize.” He stopped, as if considering whether or not to continue. “And I’m sorry I touched your…your…”

“My scar,” she hissed. “Say it, Malfoy. You were there the night I got it.”

Draco looked like he had been slapped, but had the grace to respond. “I know. And I’ll never forgive myself for not stopping her.” Now it was Hermione’s turn to be shocked. When she didn’t respond, Draco nodded down to her bowl. “Just, just finish that porridge, okay? You’ll need your strength for today.”

She turned back to her bowl. It was cold, but she cast a quick warming spell over it and watched the honey melt over the surface. It was hardly mid-morning, and she was already confused. Already, her head hurt. 

The rest of breakfast passed quickly. She made easy conversation with Neville, who, she learned, was still dating Luna Lovegood. Finally, something that made her smile – Luna and Neville, both gentle souls that cared for living creatures, were a truly perfect couple. Neville spent the rest of breakfast telling her about Luna’s work with a nonprofit wizarding organization in London that sought to educate the community about alternative forms of medicine. Hermione listened intently, but every so often Draco’s voice pierced through all the others, and she struggled to keep her focus.

Finally, Minerva called an end to breakfast, and welcomed them all to the first day of the new academic year. She made several housekeeping notes – staff meetings would be held every other Friday afternoon, notes on the increased student enrollment, ongoing renovations, and the like.

When they were released, it was late morning, and Hermione went straight to her office. She hadn’t had time to visit yesterday, and she wanted to create some semblance of organization before the students arrived. The offices were on the first floor, along with most of the classrooms, and were clustered in one long hallway, similar to the professors’ apartments. And similar to her apartment, her office was located next to Draco’s. She tried to ignore that as she unlocked the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Like her apartment, the office was airy, yet cozy. A large window graced one end of the room, providing a sweeping view of the Hogwarts grounds. There was a large, wooden desk with plenty of storage, several comfortable leather chairs, and even more bookcases than her apartment. And again, someone had hung plants from the ceiling and draped them from the shelves. She smiled. She would have to ask about the decorator who set up her spaces. 

Her materials had already been placed in the office, so Hermione got to work organizing bookshelves, setting up a large calendar, and setting up stacks of syllabi to be passed out on the first day of class. She had already been at it for quite some time when she heard a knock at the door.

Neville was there, smiling, holding a bag up. “Lunch?” he asked, and Hermione smiled at him, waving him into the office. As they ate sandwiches, Neville commented on how quickly she was pulling her space together. 

“Yes, but someone did a beautiful job furnishing it,” she said, and thought for a moment before pressing on. “Does yours have plants, too? My apartment and office are full of them.”

She was shocked when Neville blushed and ducked his head. “What?” she asked, almost playfully. He swallowed a bite of sandwich and looked up at her.

“Well…I mean, remember when we met at that gala this spring?” Hermione nodded. They had both attended the same gala in support of some organization – she couldn’t remember just then. Neville paused, then continued, a bit awkwardly. 

“Um, well I remembered something happening to you, and Harry had to take you outside for a bit, and when you came back in your were all pale, and,” Neville seemed to realize he was rambling, and reigned himself back in. “Well, I talked to Harry afterward, and he said you were having panic attacks.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say, or how any of this related to the lovely plants in her office, so she just nodded again and waited.

Neville continued. “Well, when I learned you’d be teaching at Hogwarts, I knew that this…this place could maybe trigger those, because…well, you know. Anyway, I know that panic attacks can be slowed down by touching something tactile, or with a funny surface. Sort of brings you back to earth.” He shrugged. “So I asked McGonagall if maybe she could ask someone to get some plants for your apartment and office. Figured it’s the least I could do.”

She was speechless. It was such a thoughtful, careful gesture. 

“I…I don’t know what to say, Neville,” she said. She almost felt like crying, and she forced herself to pull herself together. “Really. This is the most thoughtful thing…” She trailed off.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” he said, flashing her a smile, “You were always so nice to me – well, except for that petrification business in our first year. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

Hermione laughed, grateful he had lightened the atmosphere. Suddenly, another knock on her open door broke through their conversation. Draco stood there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

“You two mind keeping the party down?” He asked, almost jokingly, Hermione noted. “Some of us are trying to get work done.”

Hermione was forced to laugh again. “Please, Draco, you know there’s no real work to be done yet. But we’ll keep it down, if that’s what you really want.” She glanced at Neville, who was looking hard at Draco, clearly deciding whether or not to respond to him. 

She couldn’t have been more shocked when Neville silently picked up a sandwich and held it out to Draco. Well, she was even more surprised when Draco, after half a second, moved inside, took the sandwich with a soft “thanks,” and dropped into an open leather chair. And she nearly fell out of her chair when Neville and Draco picked up a pleasant conversation, discussing their schedules, courses, and potential research. Maybe, she thought to herself, some things can change.

The three of them passed the afternoon in easy conversation, with Draco and Neville eventually returning to their own offices to finish setting up their spaces. Hermione was grateful for the peace, but even more grateful for something like a miracle that had happened that afternoon. She would have to think over these changes, and what she thought about them. 

As the evening stretched over the grounds outside her window, Hermione realized it was time to prepare for the Start-of-Term Feast. Her office was as ready as possible, so she locked it behind her and returned to her apartment. She wasn’t entirely certain of professorial dress codes at the feasts, but she supposed some sort of dress robe would be appropriate. After rummaging through her wardrobe, she decided on a long, black dress, with long sleeves – long sleeves were a necessity for her, given the scar on her arm. With her hair pulled into a loose bun, she draped a black cloak around her shoulders, letter it drape loosely over her arms, and left her apartment just as it was growing dark.

“Goodness, Granger, it’s just dinner,” Draco’s words hit her the moment she closed her apartment door. She turned to find him dressed, shockingly, in something that resembled a Muggle suit – he wore a black dress shirt under a black blazer, fitted perfectly to his body. Slim black pants were tailored to his legs – the only part of the outfit that wouldn’t fit in at a Muggle dinner party was the black cloak he had fastened at his neck, lined with green and gold thread. Old habits die hard, she supposed.

“One could say the same to you, Draco,” she replied. 

He shrugged. “True,” he said, moving forward and offering his arm to her. She hesitated a moment before accepting – it’s only friendly, she thought to herself. He’s just being a gentleman.

“When did it become Draco, and not Malfoy?” he asked, breaking through her internal argument. 

Hermione paused before responding. “When did you decide to become friends with Neville Longbottom?”

“Touché,” he responded, softly, and they made their way to the Great Hall in relative silence. It was late, and most of the professors, Hermione assumed, were already in the Hall awaiting the arrival of the students. She was thrilled to see how the Hall had been decorated – perhaps longing for some semblance of the days before the dark days that had marred her later years at the school. Perhaps there would be floating candles, she mused, or a ceiling full of stars. 

“What is this like for you?” 

The question broke through her reveries. They were still walking, but Draco was glancing down at her with a question in his eyes.

“What is what like?”

“Never mind,” he said back, shaking the question from his eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked. Not tonight.”

She didn’t push back. If he wanted to hear about the memories resurfacing, about the friends she watched die – about the bodies spread in the Great Hall, about the night she thought Harry was dead, about the kiss with Ron in the Chamber when they thought they were slated for death – well, she wasn’t going to talk about that. Not here, not now. She was a professor, and she was bound determined to hold herself together on the dais tonight.

To his credit, Hermione thought, Draco didn’t push. She realized that he, too, was likely struggling to enter the Great Hall.

They did it together. She didn’t know if Draco recognized the significance of that, but she assumed it was in his mind, too. She let out a small gasp as they walked through the doors – she was transported back to her first year at Hogwarts. A thousand candles floated in mid-air above the long tables, and above, a cloudless sky, overflowing with stars and lit by the Northern Lights. As they swept toward the Head Table, Hermione noticed that even more plates than usual had been set at the house tables – a testament to the increased enrollment, and a great thing for the wizarding world.

“Ah, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy! How good of you to grace us with your presence,” Minerva called down to them as the stepped on the dais, the humor evident behind her words. Hermione could tell the woman was teeming with excitement for this evening, the reopening of her school, but as usual, put up a solid façade of control, a fine leader. “You will be seated next to your head professors – Miss Granger, over here, and Mr. Malfoy, here” she gestured toward two chairs, separated by Professor Slughorn, who had returned as head potions instructor. 

Hermione might have raised issue, but the Headmistress was already engaged with other issues. She sighed as they walked toward their seats.

Slughorn rose, slightly tipsy already, from his seat as they approached. 

“Mr. Malfoy, good to see you!” He bellowed, shaking Draco’s hand with slightly too much enthusiasm. “And Miss Hermione Granger, hero of the wizarding world,” he nearly sighed, gazing at her with pride. “I trust you’ll both be attending my little dinner parties – they’ll be starting up rather soon!”

They both nodded – Hermione was eager to be finished with the conversation and find something a bit stronger than pumpkin juice. Perhaps Slughorn sensed this, as he made a sweeping gesture toward her seat, pulling the chair out and clumsily pushing in toward the table once she was seated. From Slughorn’s opposite side, she heard Draco mutter something to the man.

“Of course my boy, of course!” came the booming reply from the potions professor. “Wouldn’t dare separate two such wizards – a fine match, you know!”

Before Hermione understood what was happening, Slughorn had stood from his chair and switched seats with Draco. Of course, Draco’s eagerness to switch seats was less concerting than Slughorn’s assumption of any sort of relationship between them, but she’d handle that later.

“Why did you do that?” she hissed as soon as Draco had settled in beside her. “People will talk.”

Draco shrugged, pouring wine in both their goblets. “Let them talk. I stopped caring what people thought of me long ago.” She almost believed him.   
“Why did you ask him to switch seats, Draco?” she repeated.

He handed her a goblet. “Because I know about your panic attacks, Granger. And I know that this environment, this feast, is likely to trigger one. I’m here to help you through it.” He shrugged again. “Better me than Slughorn,” he added quietly.

She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know how he knew about the attacks, or how he helped her at breakfast, and she didn’t know how she felt about it. For now, she raised the goblet and drank deep, watching as the first groups of students came teeming into the Great Hall, their eyes bright with joy. 

She wondered why Draco hadn’t corrected Slughorn.


End file.
